


Insanity Is Relative

by HawthornSparks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Mystery Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthornSparks/pseuds/HawthornSparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.’ -Ray Bradbury. </p><p>A young woman is locked away on the request of her doctor and parents. But what of the tangible world she knows is hidden behind that fog in her mind? And what of her unusual ward-mates?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

** Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage. **

-Ray Bradbury, writer (1920-2012)

 

* * *

 

“Granger, H. Date of birth: 19 th September, 1979. Age: 24. You are being committed to the Greater Hawkesley Institute for the Mentally Insane. You understand that you have been brought here on urgent request from your Doctor, Dr. J. Hammersley, and on consent of your mother and father?”

“Please, there’s been a mistake, I…”

“You understand that you are to give up all rights to contact with the outside world unless deemed appropriate by a psychiatrist or ward matron at any time, and that such contacts will be strictly monitored?”

“If you would just let me explain, I could…”

“And you understand that you may not leave at any time of the duration of your stay until deemed mentally stable and well by a psychiatrist of the ward?”

“Please, if you would just _listen_ to me!”

“Miss Granger, you are hereby obligated to hand over all personal effects brought her with you, and are required to don the customary attire of all patients and resident of the Institution.”

“You don’t understand, I’m not supposed to be here…”

“Yes Miss Granger, everyone feels that way at first. But I’m sure you’ll soon find you fit right in. Warden, please transport Miss Granger to her dormitory of residence. 3 rd floor, the Matron will show her to her room.”

Wild brown eyes flew about the corridor, looking for a way out, an escape route, anything. Anything but being left here.

“Good bye darling, we’ll visit you soon, we promise.”

“Mother, please, don’t let them…”

“We had no choice, sweetheart, you must understand. It’s just not safe anymore…”

“ _Please…_ ”

* * *

 

“Checks.”

The cheerful voice of the over-friendly ward Sister resonated to her very soul as Hermione Jean Granger sat huddled up under a thick woollen blanket on the single, thin-mattressed bed that had become her home.

“Don’t you feel like doing something today, Hermione? Activities start in 20 minutes. It might be nice to join some of the others.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The Sister nodded optimistically, as if believing that today would be the day the girl emerged from the room.

But Hermione knew she would not. She had vowed to herself on arrival that she would not _join in_ with the others. That she would not become one of _the others_. She was not supposed to be here, and with all her heart could not understand why her parents had felt it necessary to have her locked up and thrown in the loony bin.

A light knock sounded at the door.

“Her…Hermione?” A tentative voice sounded through the thin wood.

She rolled her eyes and turned over to face away from the door, taking the blanket with her.

“Hermione? Would you like to join in with us?” A long pause stretched on as Hermione routinely ignored this hesitant request. She was barely sure she knew what the girl on the other side of the door looked like, leaving her room only when forced to by the Ward-Sisters and Matron for meals and medication.

“Ok then, Hermione. Maybe next time.” Every day since Hermione’s arrival the girl had knocked on the door, trying to get her to come and _join in_. And every day Hermione ignored her, refusing to come out to play.

She rolled back over to take out the thin notebook she had been allowed, and HB pencil she had to take to the Nurses' desk to be sharpened almost daily now, for her incessant scribblings were continually wearing the implement down.

And every day Hermione wrote, trying desperately to keep a hold on the life she knew she had once.

The longer she spent in here, the farther away it seemed to fade. The medication they had her on wasn’t helping either. Fuzzy day blended into fuzzy day. Little was beginning to make clear sense anymore.

But still Hermione wrote. For if she stopped, she feared she would forget altogether. Some days she wrote of the adventures she knew she had been on with two boys she was sure she had called friends. Mountain trolls and great snakes, and evil men in masks. Some days she merely wrote names of the people she knew to exist. Somewhere in this world, they must exist. For she could not be real herself if they were not too.

Today she drew maps. Maps of grounds that stretched on, touching forest edges and lake shores. Maps of cobbled streets with fantastical shops lining the edges. Maps of a beautiful, comforting home, with nonsensical staircases and more bedrooms than could be counted at first glance.

She had to keep a hold of this world. She _had to._ It was real and she knew it. Some days she could smell it, taste it, near touch it. Some days it was as if the corridors and stairwells were shrouded in mist, a fog that could not be lifted.

But to lose this world was to lose a part of herself. She was sure of it.

Unfortunately, today would not be a day to dwell for long.

The door slamming against her bedroom wall startled her into tumbling off the bed and into a sprawled mess on the floor as she rushed frantically to hide her drawings and neat labels.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” The Matron’s voice boomed. “Today you _will_ be participating in the ward’s activities. I don’t give a damn whether you are to enjoy yourself or not, this will be the day you awake from you self-induced reverie. Up girl, and out we go.”

The portly woman near picked her up off the ground in one go, and had her marching out the door, blanket-less and notebook-less before she even had a chance to recognise the change in light.

“Afternoon girls.” The woman announced once they had reached the end of the corridor that opened up into the Communal room.

“Good afternoon Matron.” The women chorused back whilst sat neatly around neat tables with neat stacks of paper and neat rows of coloured pens.

“Hermione here will be joining you for today’s activities. Come along, Granger, take a seat and get stuck in. It’s Arts and Crafts today.”

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the many merrily-smiling faces that peered back at her. It took her a moment before registering a single seat at a table of women who seemed less curious in herself than the rest.

The women barely acknowledged her as she sat, most far too engrossed in other, more important matters, such as their own nails or the wall opposite to pay too much attention to her.

Hermione wondered whether she should say something; perhaps introduce herself as was polite in most normal social circles. But this was hardly a social circle, and one could hardly call current circumstances _normal_. So what was protocol in this situation?

The decision was made for her as she fell silent when one of the Ward-Sisters piped up to explain the bland activity that was to be her torture for the afternoon.

The women around her barely uttered a word for the duration, and certainly never made eye contact. Once or twice she reached for a coloured pen or sheet of paper that was swiftly snatched out of her grasp by one of the others. She would have protested had it not been for the clear shaking of the head of a blonde girl sat opposite her. Clearly this was not a matter to argue.

And so she sat, colouring in the edges of a bland piece of paper, drawing bland patterns across the bland sheet, until she was sure her life had drained of all colour into a bland mess of nonsense and uncertainty.

She used to be so logical. So why did the meaning of this whole situation elude her so?

She had been at home. Recovering. For some reason. Her parents had…

Her parents.

They had been away. Somewhere warm perhaps. Had come home, happy to return to lost lives, pick up the pieces of where they had left off.

She remembered afternoon teas at quaint cafes with her Mother and Father, catching up on all that had been missed. Shopping trips to redecorate a dusty and abandoned home. Mowing the lawn whilst a ginger tomcat rolled about lazily in the patches of long grass that had yet to be sheared.

The background drifted into a haze; she could barely remember what the living room of her parents’ home looked like.

“Hermione, dear, I think you’ve missed the edges a little. But good effort, well done. We’ll put it on the wall later.”

She looked down at the bizarre mess she had created: A mixture of multi-coloured smears and lines, crossing each other, swirling amongst each other that went right off the page and across patches of the table. She really hadn’t been paying attention.

And yet, right in the middle laid a distinctive letter.

“That is nice, Hermione. An ‘H’ for your name. How lovely.”

But this ‘H’ she had seen before. It was recognisable somehow. And the reds, blues, greens and yellows that surrounded it seemed to make it more real, more tangible. She reached out to trace it, the familiarity on the tip of her tongue, when the Sister reached down to pull it from under her fingertips. And it was gone. That train of thought that threatened to bring her back.

“Lovely. That will fit right in with some of the others. Good job.”

She glanced around and swore she noticed an exchange of looks between some of the women sat with her. She took a breath in, ready to say something, anything to bridge this gap.

But the scrape of their chairs as they simultaneously departed the table to move to the other side of the communal area and switch on the radio. Nothing but white noise, she was sure that was all they listened to. Only the blonde girl lingered a moment. Her silver grey eyes seemed to bulge out a little as she gazed into Hermione’s face, and for a moment she was sure she could see right through her.

And then she was gone.

Hermione pulled herself out of her seat to find that all the other women had moved on to other things, and so, with a nod towards the Ward-Sister, she shuffled back to her room, trying to keep a hold of that thing that danced just out of reach.

* * *

 

“Checks.”

It was Louisa on night time checks. And these must be the half-past ten checks, Hermione counted.

She would have approximately 71 minutes before the Sister realised she was late for the next hour’s worth, as she gossiped on the phone to her friend, boyfriend, sister, mother, Hermione didn’t care.

She lay there in the darkness, wishing she could spin herself into another dimension, another reality, another place, anywhere away from here. 

Twelve days and her Mother had not visited. No word from her Father. If she had known friends before, they were not here now.

As the minutes ticked by in the darkness, Hermione counted with them. She envisioned a metronome swinging before her, in time to her heartbeat. The pale wood looked so beautiful in the moonlight, the carved vines wrapping gently around the pendulum.

A torch flashed under her door, and she wondered why Louisa was so early returning. It had only been twenty-three minutes and forty-four seconds. 

A light tap sounded on the door, so quiet that Hermione couldn’t be sure she heard it, before it was echoed further down the corridor. A chill shot down Hermione’s spine. Tonight, something was amiss.

She saw the torch flicker off beneath the gap between her door and the floor, and hoped that whatever disturbance outside her room was being dealt with or would abate on its own.

She heard movement and the soft ‘click’ of the door latch. Someone was in her room. And the disturbance was coming to her.

All of a sudden, blinding light filled her vision as the torch was being shone directly onto her face.

“What the..!” She exclaimed, before her voice was muffled by a delicate hand placed over her mouth.

Two dark eyes came into view, along with grey, bright brown and hazel, as her own adjusted.

“All right Granger, got a little magic in you then?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

-Ray Bradbury, writer (1920-2012)

* * *

 

 

“How the hell did you get in here?” She half-shouted, muffled by the hand still clamped to her face.

“You’ll keep quiet, Granger, if you know what your life’s worth.” The woman hovering above her in the darkness muttered. “We don’t have long so you’ll shut that gobby little mouth of yours.”

The dark haired, dark eyed woman glanced across at the others, one hovering by the door, evidently keeping watch. The remaining two lingered close by, as if to be close at hand should a situation arise.

Hermione’s eyes flitted between them, anxious to gain some kind of understanding on what was happening.

“Understand?” The apparent leader of the group stressed, emphasising her point by pressing her hand harder to Hermione’s mouth, effectively cutting off her air supply. Unsure of what to do, she merely nodded in response.

“Good.”

A noise down the hallway caused all of them to freeze, Hermione included. She could at the very least comprehend that this was not a good thing, and getting caught in the middle, in whatever capacity, would not benefit anyone.

No footsteps or subsequent sounds followed, and the women visibly relaxed.

“Alright.” The dark haired woman turned back to her. “Granger. We know what you are.”

“Know what I am? How can you possibly…”

“I believe I suggested you shut the fuck up.” She leaned in, threateningly. Hermione quietened immediately. “I said we know _what_ you are. We just don’t know who you are. You’re one of us, we know that much. But we can’t say why you’re here; the same way that none of us really knows how we ended up in this place. With me so far?”

Hermione nodded again, afraid to speak.

“Good. I know you don’t want to be here, believe me, none of us do. But by Salazar we’re going to find a way out. Now Blondie here noticed that you had a moment back in the Activities room the other day. All wide eyed, like you were trying to remember.”

She looked up at the blonde woman who had caught her gaze, her silver eyes once again bulging slightly, as if imploring her to comprehend.

“As much as you want to, you _must not try_. Hey, I’m talking to you.” Hermione found herself slapped around the cheek, bringing her attention back to the brunette. “At least not around the Sisters. Comb through what little memories you have all you like on your own, but not around them. They will know. And it will be passed on. Do you understand?”

Hermione could do nothing but glance between the women focussing their attention on her.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I knew you would. Now we can’t tell you much more right now, that bitch will be on her way back soon and we cannot be caught. We are laying plans Granger. And we will need you when the time comes.”

“Time.” The slight woman by the door murmured, the light from the crack in the door catching against her auburn hair as she turned her head.

“Shit. Let’s move. Granger, mark my words. Stay low. And don’t show a thing.”

The women moved out silently, their bare feet hardly touching the floor.

And Hermione was alone again, in her room, unsure of what had just happened. Unsure _if_ it had just happened.

“Checks.”

Hermione awoke the next morning after a restless night’s sleep. Words, unfamiliar voices and strange dark eyes echoed around her thoughts, refusing to make sense or align.

“Good morning Hermione, it’s Garden Time today. Do you think you’d like to go out and enjoy the fresh air?” Helen called gently, another sister Hermione was coming to recognise. She was unsure whether this was a good thing or not, becoming familiar with people she should not be around long enough to be able to identify.

“Perhaps.”

“I think it will do you good. I’ll put your name down on the list.”

Hermione sighed. This was becoming a habit since the Matron had physically removed her from her self-imposed cell. All the Sisters were beginning to feel as though they could force her to endure things she had no intentions of suffering through.

She emerged from the cramped room soon after, heading down to the Dining Hall for a predictably bland breakfast. She scanned the room as she entered, noticing the four women from the previous night studiously looking elsewhere. Only the blonde girl glanced her way once again, momentarily locking their eyes, before moving on to examine the wall much as before.

After collecting a tray of food, Hermione took a place at the far end of one of the two long tables that stretched out across the dining room. A gaggle of vacant-eyed women barely showed any sign of noticing she was there, two of them continued to drool onto the trays before them whilst the others shovelled food into their mouths, intermittently muttering to themselves and each other.

Hermione looked down at the colourless, tasteless substance in front of here. She had thought her taste buds would get used to the complete lack of flavour after forcing these rations down her throat, day-in, day-out. But no. Much like everything else in this place she merely continued to endure.

Shifting the mess around her plate a little more and attempting to swallow whatever blandness they’d concocted this time, she moved her attention to the room around her.

She had studied these walls every meal-time since she’d been admitted. The far wall consisted of 1, 387 bricks in total, not including those behind the bland art pasted up in an attempt to brighten the place up. The cream paint that had been spread across another was peeling in 12 places, and the door looked to have been recently replaced for it didn’t quite fit the frame it sat in.

The long tables took her attention today, with the groups spread out between and the few loners like herself having a fair amount of space between. The Chinese girl sat across the way from her was moving her food about her plate in a similar fashion, letting out occasional sighs and gazing into the distance. A single tear occasionally escaped her wet lashes, but this was nothing new. Her black hair was cut in a jagged fashion, as though she’d gone at it with a pair of gardening shears, and though it looked as though it had once been glossy and healthy, it now had a dullness to it that Hermione was fairly certain the girl couldn’t care less about.

She couldn’t recall the girl’s name, but Hermione guessed she was perhaps a year or two older than herself. Her gaunt face and sallow eyes held shadows of a former fullness, perhaps in the girl’s healthier days. She wondered what turn of events led her to be here.

As Hermione’s gaze wandered across the room once more, she was struck but a sudden pulling at her memory. She couldn’t place where, but she remembered tables similar to this. Many happy, smiling faces gathered around long wooden tables that were almost creaking under the weight of so much glorious food. 

‘Four’, she murmured, ‘I remember four tables.’

As she pulled herself out of her reverie, her eyes were instantly drawn the dark haired woman, leader of the pack that had crept in to her room that night. As she shook her head, determined eyes imploring her not to show a sign, Hermione gave a swift nod of understanding.

She wasn’t sure if she believed this woman yet, but she thought it perhaps best not to argue and simply play along for now.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

-Ray Bradbury, writer (1920-2012)

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on ladies, out we go. Some fresh air would be good for everyone, don’t you all agree?” 

Nurse Annie was far too perky and bright for anyone at any time of day, let alone when forcing all the unwitting patients of the ward out into the sparse ‘garden’. With a patch of scrubby grass, a few benches, some saplings that looked like they’d never grow any taller and a several collections of brown shrubs, Hermione wasn’t sure how anyone could look at this piece of land and call it a garden. She felt certain she’d been to graveyards with more life in them.

She wandered apathetically around the perimeter of the space, glancing around occasionally at the women nearby, avoiding those that seemed most troubled. One particular girl had caught her eye as she’d wandered past. It was hard not to notice her at first. She rarely came out onto the ward, with the Matron frequently allowing her to take meals in her room. But when she did appear, it was hard to ignore her face wrapped in gauze and bandages each time. She had caught sight of scratches and scars up an arm of the girl when she’d emerged one time; not self-inflicted, Hermione analysed, but the disfigurement resembled that of a vicious attack, almost animalistic in nature.

Again, she wasn’t sure of her name - her ward-mates weren’t particularly big on introductions, and Hermione wasn’t keen on making any lasting friendships in this place. She recalled overhearing the Sisters referring to her by some sort of colour, or flower perhaps? But she couldn’t be certain.

But that wasn’t what interested Hermione. She’d seen the girl picking up random twigs and fallen branches and thrusting them at various bushes. This seemed bizarre in itself, but alongside murmured words of something that resembled Latin and a repeated chant of _“Choose me, choose me”_ , left Hermione sure that this girl most definitely belonged in the Institute. She was quite clearly off her rocker.

She turned her attention back to the other members of the party. The curious women, as she had taken to calling them, seemed one member short this afternoon. The blonde, the brunette and their raven-haired leader were gathered in one corner of the garden, where it was clear that no others were welcome.

She circled the garden again, steering clear of that end as much as possible when a shriek went up, rousing all from their daydreaming. Hermione spun, feeling defensive and on-edge. The squawking became louder and she soon realised it was coming from the disfigured girl kneeling in the flower beds. The door to the main building flew open as more nurses and wardens came rushing out to assist those already present who appeared to be restraining the girl.

“I did it! It happened!” She screamed over and over, “It chose me! It _chose me!_ ”

“Now, now, let’s calm down and get you inside, shall we?” The stout Matron shouted over the cacophony.

“ _It chose me!_ ” The girl continued to bellow, wrestling herself out of the grip of the six members of staff intent on getting her back into the building. _“It chose me!”_

“That is _quite_ enough! Erikson, if you would.” The Matron roared in instruction to a male orderly.

Before Hermione could quite make out what was going on, a syringe had been uncovered and pressed firmly into the screaming girl’s thigh. Within moments she had slumped in their arms and was carried back inside.

The Matron stood in the doorway for a moment, aware that the garden was entirely silent and every eye, both alert and vacant, was on her.

“I trust you girls are enjoying your afternoon. Carry on.” She nodded to the remaining nurses who visibly relaxed and carried on as before, as though nothing had happened.

A shattering wail could be heard echoing down the corridor as the Matron re-entered the building.

“Hermione, dear, how about having a look at this tree over her?” One of the Sisters offered, and it was only then that she realised she had yet to move from the stock-still defensive crouch she had positioned herself in at the beginning of the debacle.

“Come along, Hermione, there’s a good girl.” The nurse patted her on the shoulder as she relaxed her tense muscles.

Her eyes met the familiar brown-black across the grass, a warning evident in their murky depths as she straightened up. She turned to the half-dead sapling with the nurse hovering nearby, mulling over previous words.

_‘Comb through what little memories you have all you like on your own, but not around them. They will know. And it will be passed on.’_

She glanced up, noticing for the first time a large window overlooking the outdoor space high up on the top floor. A shadow loomed, features obscured the reflection of the glass, but Hermione could not escape the uneasy-feeling of being watched, observed, like an animal in a cage.

She stared back for a long moment, unsure if she was meeting her onlooker’s gaze, before looking back down at the lacklustre leaves already beginning to fall from the spindly branches.

“We should have you girls out here more often, get you to tend to the garden a little perhaps.”

“Will she be ok?” Hermione ventured.

“Who, dear?”

“The girl. The girl who just…”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” The nurse nodded, turning her attention away from Hermione and her questions.

“But she’ll be back, won’t she? On the ward, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh, perhaps.”

“Then where have they taken her, if she’s not…”

“Hermione, I think it best not to trouble yourself with these thoughts. Rest assured, Lavender will be getting all the help she needs. Now, why don’t you stretch your legs and have a little wander around the garden? Oh, Lucy, that’s a nice leaf you’ve found there.” And with that, the Sister had put an end to their conversation.

Hermione did as she was told, not wanting to cause any more problems or draw attention to herself.

But as she passed the flowerbed that the girl had been so interested in, she was sure no one could miss the vibrant purple of the unmistakeable blossoms of a lavender plant. And Hermione knew for a fact that colour had not existed amongst the shrubbery before this afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

The ward door opening and closing caught her attention amongst the tedious nothingness in the communal area.

The auburn-haired member of the unusual clan re-entered the ward, accompanied by a male orderly. She scanned the room and found her group seated around a table in a corner, before being signed back in at the Nurses’ Station. After the appropriate checks were made she wandered back over to the women, a slight bounce to her walk indicating that something was different. 

This would probably have gone unnoticed by all but Hermione, she mused to herself; after all, she did spend an inordinate amount of time studying these particular patients when she could. After those urgent and hurried words and the recent incident in the garden, she had taken to dwelling on the words of her ward-mate. Still unsure what to make of the women, she tried to her best to decipher the mixed messages that had been put to her that night.

She heard their muted whispers from her position on an uncomfortable sofa and felt an urge to listen in. Whether this was due to boredom or morbid curiosity she wasn’t sure, but she got up slowly and leisurely and made her way to a nearby window, as though gazing out at the world rather than eavesdropping on whatever was going on in the corner.

Over the generic hum of the television in the corner she could only make out snippets of conversation, but from the occasional words and accompanying sounds she deciphered that Lavender would not be returning to the ward any time soon, if at all.

“Whatever possessed her to do something as fucking stupid as that in front of everyone, deserves to have her transferred upstairs.” The harshly muttered words of the leader came across in a volume dip on the television.

She heard their voices pause and chair scrape back. Although eager to see what progress was being made, Hermione tried to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible by the window. It was the hot breath on her ear that let her know she had failed in covert mission.

“Granger, if you want in then sit down. Don’t hover like some fucking idiot.”

The chair moved again and Hermione paused for a long moment before turning to face them. None of them were looking at her, as per usual.

She had spent hours awake at night, thinking on their word and wondering if they would come back to explain further. And now her chance for additional information seemed too good to miss.

As she pulled a chair out, she became aware that to anyone else this would seem like a very unremarkable event but she felt as though this simple action was the marker that would precede a much bigger occurrence.

“So you’ve finally discovered what’s good for you, Granger.” The woman muttered.

Her newly returned counterpart seemed eager to continue, unaffected by Hermione’s presence, and practically quivering in her seat. The familiar blonde girl nodded for her to resume.

“Wait,” She was interrupted by her raven-haired friend, “Granger, I’m sure you’re aware, you breathe a word of anything we say to anyone whether on the ward or off, and you’ll find yourself at the bottom of the stairwell one morning. Clear?”

Hermione nodded, fairly certain that this woman was in no way joking or embellishing her threat. She received a curt nod in return.

“Ginny, continue.”

The redhead burst forth with her information as quietly and subtly as she could, reiterating that Lavender would not return and had been transferred _upstairs_. Hermione wasn’t sure what was _upstairs_ , but her tone and the women’s dark looks left her with no doubts that this was not a place one wanted to find themselves.

“ _But_ , and here’s the upside to all of this,” She paused, looking around the table at everyone, including Hermione. She couldn’t help but note the sparkle in the young girl’s eyes that she’d never seen in her weeks of watching these people. “ _He’s_ coming back.”

Whoever _he_ was, this was obviously important news for every woman reacted in some way. Even the brunette seemed to make a silent gasp, and Hermione was yet to witness her speak.

“Ginny, you have to be certain…”

“I am. I heard it from the top when I was up there for Psych earlier.”

“What a curious turn of events.” The blonde remarked, her gaze distant and unfocussed.

“He’s coming back?”

“Yes. Tonight or tomorrow. I’m sure of it. Pansy, he’ll be here again!” 

“He’s coming back!” The dark eyes that had held threats and warnings now lit with excitement, even though she was clearly trying to keep her face neutral.

Hermione’s curiosity peaked and she could not stop herself from asking. “Excuse me, but who is he?”

All four women stopped to look at her, their expressions frozen momentarily before slipping from their faces.

“Tonight. We’ll tell you tonight. Not before.” The leader known as Pansy told her, as they all straightened, ready for the call to take their meds any moment.

“Medication time, ladies. Ardor, Jennifer.” As a young women stepped forward to take her small cup of pills and a glass of water, Pansy leant forwards and looked Hermione dead in the eye.

“You’re in this now, Granger. He’s coming. It will happen.”

_“Benson, Sarah.”_

Pansy nodded at her once, before getting up to join the throng around the Nurses’ Station. The blonde, who had remained seated turned to her.

_“Bones, Susan.”_

“It’s ok, she’s just having a little trouble adjusting.” She explained.

“Adjusting?”

 “Yes. This has been difficult for her. For all of us. But she’s dealing with it the worst, you see.”

_“Chang, Cho.”_

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I do.”

The girl looked at her again, an amused smile gracing her eyes. “She remembers.”

_“Connolly, Aoife_.”

“She remembers?”

“Yes. More than most. But she only remembers the bad things. Nothing good.”

“I still don’t understand. What bad things?” Hermione pressed.

_“Faust, Eleanor.”_

“Bad things happened to us all, Hermione. We’re here for a reason.”

“Please, could you just explain what you mean?”

_“Granger, Hermione.”_

“One day. You’re not ready yet.” The blonde girl smiled at her.

“But I am, I want to know.” If there was one thing Hermione was ready for, it was knowledge. For all her life had she been ready for knowledge.

“No. You will understand soon though.”

_“Granger, Hermione.”_

“Tonight? Will you tell me tonight?”

“Perhaps.”

_“Hermione Granger!”_

“Or perhaps _he_ will. Granger, Hermione.”

“Excuse me?”

“Medication. Your turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one I've been working on for quite some time, and has been posted on other sites previously. It's been on a hiatus since chapter 4, but I'm starting to pick it up again with any necessary re-writes.
> 
> Would love to know your thoughts.


End file.
